House Wife Novels & Stories

If she didn't eat those meals properly, and the staff reported back to him, wouldn't her lie be exposed? Her jaw clenched. Damn Sharon. She must be behind this. Her resentment deepened. Meanwhile, Marie almost broke into celebration. She was finally free of this thankless job—if she could, she would've popped a confetti cannon. In a wealthy household, a wife occasionally cooking could be seen as a way to nurture bonds or cultivate inner peace. But cooking every single day? What difference was there between that and being a maid? No wonder the lady of the house got angry enough to walk out.

I responded. “Well, this is my house.. and every room here. .belongs to me.” She answered. I was quiet for a while, wondering what to say to her. “You should be awake, doing the chores, doing the dishes.. like every responsible house wife should do.” She spoke with disgust evident in her voice. “Apparently, I am not one. By the way, it is the duty of a maid to do all the chores you listed.” I responded defiantly. “No, dear. It is your duty as my son’s wife to do the things that would make him happy and comfortable including making sure his house is neat and well arranged and everything is in order. “

She wanted me to stay at home and take care of not only my home, but hers, and follow every order she gives me, but I refused. It's true that I'm married to a very wealthy man, but I don't want to be a housewife. It has never been my dream. The last thing I want for myself is having to stay home all day, doing chores that make no sense. Besides these chores can easily be done by housekeepers my husband can afford to pay so I don't get why this woman keeps berating me for hiring housekeepers to take care of my home.

I started telling him about my life before. My husband at first, he was kind and he really loved me. I can't imagine that he would trade me for a girl. He never made me overthink. Because since we got married, he was only at home and in the office. I'm at home, just a plain housewife. Tiga-saing, tiga-labu, tiga-husa, tiga-cook as long as everything to be done inside is done by me. "So, your hubby is also sweet, sister," he excitedly promised me.

The old woman just took her into the house and said: "I'm the housekeeper here, it's fine to call me Mrs. Phung, you just came today, don't know the rules, so I don't blame you, but you have to learn, old man. Our families and ladies only like polite people.” Grainne saw her face teaching others, and was very upset, so she replied: "Ah, Mrs. Phung, right? You must have misunderstood, I didn't come to be a servant, just your young master's knee was injured, so I came to take care of it." “What's the difference? That is a maid, no different from a servant!” Mrs. Phung was very unhappy with her attitude, so she answered informally. "It's not a maid, it's just a temporary caretaker, the housekee

Grandma inquired, her words tinged with a hint of acrimony. "Breakfast is prepared," Aubrey replied, swiftly darting back to the kitchen to bring the meal to the dining table. Rising early each morning, she meticulously orchestrated breakfast to be served on time, following in the footsteps of her mother, who had been the Cooper family's loyal housemaid. Aubrey embraced the responsibility of ensuring punctuality in serving breakfast, just as her mother had done before her. Returning with the breakfast in hand, Aubrey commenced serving each individual's portion. All eyes turned to Grandma, who always partook of her meal first, signaling the commencement of the family's breakfast.

This was my life and I had made peace with it. That's not me being dramatic. I mean it genuinely. I was thirty-two years old, a junior partner at Hargrove and Sloane, the legal guardian of a three-year-old who drew cats on everything, and I had not been on a date since the Obama administration. But I had a routine that worked. I had a daughter, not biologically, not legally in the strictest sense, but mine in every way that mattered — and I had a job I was good at, and I had an apartment with enough counter space to actually cook, which I had learned to value more than I ever expected.

TWO YEARS TWO MONTHS AGO Rara's eyes widened in wonder as she took in the sights of the extraordinary house. It was no ordinary display of wealth, but an enchanting masterpiece of artistry. The grand floor-to-ceiling windows beckoned her gaze, while the arrangement of cosy couches invited her for relaxation. The room was bathed in a soft glow from the wide ceiling lighting, creating an ambience of both elegance and comfort. The intoxicating scents that filled the air awakened Rara's senses, leading her to believe that Ralph was not as minimalistic as she had initially assumed. He had truly surpassed her expectations.

A week ago, the news broke that I'd filed a lawsuit against my wife of more than 20 years, Hazel Cooper, the woman who had shared my bed and my life for over half my adulthood. From that moment on, I became the neighborhood's favorite villain. Everyone called me the heartless man who had climbed his way to success and abandoned his wife and child without remorse. In their eyes, Hazel was flawless. She'd married me when I was poor and struggling. She never complained, even when life was hard. She cared for my sickly mother until her final days. She raised our son almost entirely on her own and turned him into a top student, the kind every family boasted about.

he shouted back. Haha! I just got dressed and while I was doing that I realized that it's okay to have a husband who takes care of you. The woman who has food ready when you come home from work and even the clothes for you to wear, she will take out. It was a warm feeling. So heart-fluttering. When a woman takes care of your house... it's not a house anymore. But a HOME. "Bennet! Son of a gorilla, come here and I'm hungry!!"